


Three Blue Lights

by Venturous



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s February  1943 in Tunisia, and a fierce battle is underway. The British First Army has Rommel's Afrika Korps on the run.</p><p>Robert Lewis, a British radio operator, is taken prisoner by the Nazis, and young Sergeant Wilhelm Gottchalk is tasked with delivering him to Rommel for interrogation. It’s believed that Lewis is a code breaker from Blenchley Park, which he consistently denies, claiming to be nothing special.</p><p>During their journey across the arid hills of southern Tunisia they are attacked, injured and take shelter in a desert canyon while the battle rages around them.  Lewis begins to suspect the young officer may not be who, or what he seems.</p><p>cover art by artist venturous <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/607706">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Blue Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [basaltgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/gifts).



Three Blue Lights

_THREE BLUE LIGHTS: WW2 slang for 'something highly improbable.' It's from a field legend that peace would be signaled by the firing of three dark blue signal flares, which would, of course, be invisible against the night sky._

My name is Robert Lewis, I’m was a private in the British First in 41 and 42, and I have a tale to tell. I served as radio operator with the Northumberland Fusiliers, fighting under Lieutenant General Kenneth Anderson against the German Afrika Korps. As exciting as all that was, fighting in the desert, working with a few thousand of me closest friends, I’m not here to tell you about war itself. What happened to me was something else, something remarkable: someone I met.

In the fall of ‘41 we landed in Morocco and successfully carried out Operation Torch, teaming up with Yanks, Aussies and Frogs, all one big happy family. And with support from the RAF 242 and we drove those Nazi bastards back into Tunisia.

In February we were holding a strong line against the 5th Light Afrika in northeastern Tunisia, atop a steep ridge above the village of Kasserine. Now normally I was just a base rat, stuck in the radio tent, but that day I had to run some reports to base command, just when those damn Nazis tried to outflank us. Ultimately they were unsuccessful, but in one skirmish I managed to get winged and taken prisoner. That’s when I first met Sergeant Wilhelm Gottschalk.

============

The first time I saw him was from a distance, just a silhouette. We were shuffling from our pen to the netty for a much-needed wash, and I was leanin on me mate, Colin, my leg hurting so fucking bad, when I heard our Jerry handler holler at us “Achtung!” And looked up to see what the fuss was all about.

I canna make out what’s happening at first, but I heard whispers coming down the line that Rommel is here. I leaned out to get a gander at this famous Nazi, but can’t tell which one he is, with everyone milling about, the dust and all. And then I saw a tall figure in a dark coat. Striking he was: tall and trim, holding himself like a king. But when he turned he wasn’t the general at all, but a young Sergeant, pale and blond, saluting as Rommel steps down from his lorry.

The general has a fine greatcoat himself, just a lot more scrambled eggs. He looked commanding enough. His men made way, saluting. As they moved toward us I watched the lad talking to Rommel, how, half a head taller, he nearly bows when speaking to the great man. And as they approached our warden shoos us along. “Schnell! You filthy swine, make way!" Together down we shuffled down the roadside bank and were led off to the latrines.

Rommel left soon after his brief inspection, and I never laid eyes on him again. I knew what he didn’t: that the Allied armies were about to run his Afrika Korps to the ground. The Sergeant I would meet again, soon enough.

I was still out of sorts, but on the mend, when that blond officer showed up again a few weeks later. I was singled out with an Aussie and a Yank, and we were shackled together and presented to him. We were all radio men, I noticed. The Sergeant spoke with our warden at length, and that bastard clearly wasn't keen on cooperating. Cursing, he tried to send him away, throwing his papers on the ground. Then our keeper stomped off to his tent and came back angrily waving papers of his own. I watched the Sergeant, calm throughout, his eyes like a hawk.

Now people say that all the time, about the eyes, but I really do mean it, in that his gaze was clear and cool, and seemed to look right into ya, as I soon found oot. Papers sorted, we were then hustled off to the command tent where the Sergeant addressed the base Commander. It seemed that Rommel’s intelligence folk wanted to talk to any radio boys they had captured, and we were it.

Now I speak a fair amount of Kraut, and I understand even more, but it pays to keep something like that under your hat, as you might imagine. That young Aussie kept whisperin loudly to me ‘whad ee say? Whad ee say?’ and I stomped on his foot, tryin to shoosh him without much fuss, you see, so they wouldna guess I could understand them so well.

Tall Sergeant wanted to take us three to Sfax on the coast, and the base Commander was hesitant to let us go. Apparently they did keep a careful count of their captives, and there was hell to pay if any of us went missing. Good to know, for I spent many a night there wonderin if they just shoot me were me leg to go green.

After much negotiation and assurances that we would be, if not well treated then at least kept alive and, more importantly, inventoried, the commander signed the papers and waved us out of his tent. We stepped into the blinding morning sun.

After the prerequisite standing around for hours, trying to keep the bloody flies from biting, Sergeant Blond came by in a lorry and in the King’s perfect English tells us that we are to be taken to Sfax for questioning. This does not thrill me over much, for while its right fine to get out of the stinking POW pens, there's things I know that aren't for Jerry's ear. And we've all heard plenty of stories about how creative the Nazis are in their interrogations.

Finally we climb in the back of the lorry, and Sergeant Bright Eyes nods at his driver, a grunt named Ludwig, and we pulled out of the camp. I looked up at that high ridge over Kesserine knowing a few thousand of me friends are up there, and they have big plans for Jerry. I hope that I don't get kilt by me own folk, riding as I am in a Nazi lorry. But maybe there will be a bit of fuss and we can escape. There would be some excitement today, I was sure of it.

============

After a few dusty hours we were at the mouth of the valley. From here it’s a long unprotected road in open country, over one hundred miles to the coast. Our captors must know that the Allies are all around them, so crossing that plain is going to be hazardous. We stopped in the thin shade of a small canyon and the Germans got out for a stretch.

"Hey! I need to piss!" My Yankee pal Frank hollered, and Ludwig scowled at us. He looked to the Sergeant who nodded at us, and the soldier grumbles in German about how we better not try anything. as he helped us out of the lorry, but with our hands tied all together it was a bit of a trick.

Sergeant Blonde lit up a nice French fag as he watched us. I swear our piss dried before it hit the ground, it was so hot and dry. He kept watching as we fumbled with our flies, then helped each other back into the lorry. He looked me right in the eye as I passed him. He barked at the grunt to give us water then walked a discreet distance to relieve himself. Private Ludwig was rummaging in the boot when I first heard them: the unmistakable whine of fighters coming. As the planes appeared from behind the ridge I was thrilled even as I was shakin in me boots. The RAF was here to save the day, and we were sure to be strafed. 

Sergeant Pretty Boy high tailed it back to the lorry, hollering at Ludwig to get his arse in the truck, and we careened up the draw were setting in, racing right up the dry creek bed. The truck was lurching so wildly that I was sure we'll be wheels up ere long, but somehow we were almost to cover when the first strafe came ripping through. Ludwig grunted as his head bloomed like a rose. The Sergeant hauled the wheel so hard we rolled over, presenting our underbelly to the rain of bullets. Rain? It was more like a buzz saw ripping through the steel. 

It got real quiet for a while after the RAF screamed away. All I heard was tick tick tick of the engine cooling, but I could smell petrol, and that worried me a bit. Now I know that roll saved me life, but when I tried to move I found I was quite buried under my two comrades. Jim, the Aussie, seems quite limp. I needed to get out of there before it caught fire. Maybe I can get picked up by me mates. I grunted with the effort of moving my poor Aussie lad off enough, and was struggling to climb out when I heard a moan. Someone was still breathing.

“Hey there, are you ok?” I hoped it was the Yank, and he would get me outa there, since he was on top. But no one answered, and Frank was definitely dead ad I wriggled between him and the front seat. I was panting before I managed to free one arm and haul myself into the air. I shoved as hard as I could, but my legs were still stuck when I saw the Sergeant’s blond skull resting on the bloodied steering wheel. He was breathing.

“Sergeant?” No answer, I tried in German. “Feldwebel?” He's out cold, then, and I surveyed my domain with a sigh. Never did get me water.

I finally crawled free and fell right in a puddle of gas, got up and ran as well as I could on me gammy leg. truth be told I was feelin like a panicked rabbit, the sun beating down and my head was bangin with thirst. I needed that water. I prayed that the lorry wasn’t about to go up in flames just yet. And I'm thinking about my pal the Sergeant back there. I'd better get his guns.

I climbed up on the topside of the lorry I heard him muttering some gibberish, and gingerly tugged his pistol out of its holster and pitch it over the side. I studied him carefully. He had a shoulder wound, and a gash on his forehead, both actively bleeding. He seemed incoherent. Good thing, I decided, and rummaged underneath him for the grunt’s gun as well. The rifles must be in the boot. And water, I sincerely hoped.

I found the water and drank deeply, then grabbed two rifles, the ammo, and a small folding shovel. I looked around for a good hiding place and stowed the weapons in a crevice between boulders, burying them with sand, doing my best to erase me footprints as I backed out. I retrieved blondie's pistol and tucked it in me trousers, cinching them tighter, I looked around, listening. I wanted to hear my mates coming, to run back down the draw and flag someone down. But all was oddly quiet. The fighting had moved away instead of toward us. 

My bloody captor began to stir again. Well, he was my captive, now. I heard him muttering and moved closer. It was something in Latin. He was praying.

I sighed, and climbed up top and hauled the driver door open to see if I could get him out. He was no lightweight despite his lean frame, and I was not having much luck. His arm started bleeding again, and he sputtered and swung wildly, cursing: "Nehmen Sie Ihre dreckigen Hände von mir!"

I want to laugh, but frankly I was too damn knackered to spend the breath. "Get yer own great self out then, Jerry." I tell him. He looked at me like he couldn't focus too well, pretty sore, not just with me but the whole world. "Kannst du dich bewegen Sie Ihre Beine, Feldwebel?" I ask him in carefully sloppy German.

He nodded, and accepted my hand. I hauled him up and out, and he clamored up and fell off the lorry just like I did. I helped him up and away from the gas leak, over to the shade of some boulders, steering him well away from where I had stashed the guns. He leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes, sliding down onto the sand. I offered him water and he gestured for me to drink first. I shook my head and tip the canteen to his lips. “Trinken.” I ordered him. His eyes flashed, but he hadn't the strength to protest. 

==============

That time of year in the desert night fell quick and early. As the more able bodied soldier I surveyed our environment and found the most sheltered spot we could reasonably get to. I half dragged the Sergeant, who was still not quite in all his faculties, behind some huge boulders and dug out a hollow in the sand to hold him upright. I knew the cold would set in as soon as the sun disappeared, and the sand would help hold body heat.

I found his matches and fags, and looked about for anything to make a fire with, but precious little grew in this arid place. We needed some way to keep warm. In the fading light I headed for the lorry to fetch anything useful and found a tool bag as well as the Sergeant’s kit and his greatcoat. I hesitated, then climbed up and with some effort got poor dead Frank’s shirt off, so at least I’d have another layer. 

Back at ‘camp’ my Sergeant was sleeping. In his kit I found field glasses, compass, folding knife, a nested spoon and fork, tin cup, a few ration tins. Clean shirt and smalls, shaving kit. Nothing at all personal. Among the tools I found a flint striker and another knife among the usual stuff.

With nothing to burn and no cover, the cold was our first problem. I dug the warm sand up around him, covered him with his greatcoat for a blanket, then made him drink more water. Then I dug myself a sandy bed and settled in to get as comfortable as I could. I made sure he could see the gun at my waist as I sat next to the gear.

“Are you hungry? I asked in English. “We don’t have much, but there’s at least two day’s rations. Well, for a scrawny lad who’s already had a good breakfast.” 

He gave me a weak smile and shook his head. “Are you alright, soldier?” he asked.

I nodded. “Nothing new, same old gammy leg. Guess I'm the luckiest bastard today, eh? Sorry about your driver, Sergeant. The RAF are pretty sharp. We’re lucky to be breathin.”

He sighed. “Thank you for helping me.”

I wished for a bit of light to see him, but I took this at face value.

“You’d have done the same, I’m sure.”

He had nothing to say to that, and we sat quietly for a long while. I leaned back against a boulder and closed my eyes.

When I woke it was to the sounds of my kraut friend arguing with someone. By instinct I was on my feet before I was fully alert, gun in hand. But he was talking in his sleep, and I heaved a big breath, relieved. It was fucking freezing but I had to piss, so I scrambled up and walked a ways off. The stars were spread so thick it looked like coarse salt from horizon to horizon. Standing there in the emptiness of that desert I felt so small I might disappear. The heavens looked so crowded, but it was sure lonely down here. 

When I went back he was awake, and I realized I could see, actually see by starlight reflecting off of the sand. Incredible.

“Did you find my cigarettes?”

“I did. And there is even an extra package in your kit.” I handed the pack to him and he fumbled with it with his good hand. “Here, let me get that…” I extracted a fag and handed it to him. Then struck one of our few lucifers. In the light of the flame his face was gaunt and pale. I wanted to leave the match burn so I could look at him, but he blew it out. 

“I wish we could make a fire, but there is nothing to burn here. Does anything grow in this blasted land?”

The red coal of his smoke flared as he drew deeply on it, then exhaled a cloud. “There are some native flora, but only where there’s a bit of moisture. I’ve seen flowers, a rabbit, even.” He sounded wistful.

After a long silence he said “Wilhelm.” “Wilhelm Gottschalk. And you are?”

“Call me Lewis.”

“Well, Lewis, I suppose you are correct in that we are fortunate to have survived your RAF. I wonder if your troops will find us here. Then it will be my turn to experience your hospitality.”

I heard the smile in his voice. I started to speak, then realized I had better not give away any knowledge of what the First was up to, as obvious as it may seem.

“Could be your folk, looking for why you never made it, Sergeant. Wilhelm.”

“It’s several hours to the coast from here at a fast clip. They won’t count me missing for some time. Would you like a smoke?”

“Nah, never could get the hang of it, though I like the idea.”

“Where is your home, Lewis?”

“I’m from Newcastle, near the border with Scotland. And you?

“I was born in Berlin.” His tone implied that was all there was to know.

“Your English is remarkable, you must have studied a great deal.”

“I’m good with languages, and went to school in England.”  
“I canna speak a word of much. Studied French of course, but can’t speak it to save me life. "

He smoked in silence for a while then snuffed the fag in the sand and buried it good. He reached for the canteen and drank, then passed it to me.

"C'est la belle soiree pour une promenade sous les etoiles, n'est pas?" he spoke very softly.

"Aye, that it is, Sergeant, that it is." I sighed.

==============

We dozed. The night was quiet enough, until it wasn't. A distant boom rattled the ground and I startled upright. There was no sign of dawn, yet and my army was wasting no time, launching the first mortar rounds. I lurched to my feet, and stumbling went out to a clear view of the southwestern horizon. Soon enough a great flash was followed by the explosion I felt almost more than I heard. Determining that danger was far enough away I stretched and found a good place to piss, watching the fireworks. It was my boys alright, pummeling the Jerry camp we had so recently departed from.

When I returned to my Sergeant he was waiting to ask me what I had seen. I told him what I knew, and he was quiet. The sky was beginning to glow in the east, but it felt like I'd had no sleep at all.

“Your troops are in the valley then, and I suspect they will eventually come this way." He sounded so tired.

I nodded. "Aye. I am sure we can find a way to surrender ourselves and not be harmed. "

He looked up at me, weary but icy sharp, and held my gaze a beat too long before he said: "No."

I stared at him and felt the command in his tone. It melted into me and I wanted to obey. Such is a leader of men, one so compelling. But I was aware of his skill, and I challenged him.

"I'll see to it that you come to no harm, Wilhelm. You have my word. We are at least as civilized as your lot, maybe more." I tried a smile. It failed to bring one in response. Instead, he said with a cold sneer: "I doubt that very much, soldier." and turned his face away.

I puzzled over this, why he would be so averse to capture. Of course none of us would choose it, but unlike today then there was a code that protected prisoners, and for the most part it was adhered to. And then it struck me. He was scared, deeply afraid of something, something more than the ordinary business of war.

I knew for I had a secret of my own, a big one. I was not just a radio hack. And I knew why Rommel's folk wanted to talk to me and the other radio boys. There was talk that one of us was more valuable, an ‘asset’. Someone who could break their Enigma messages. I was that plum that they wanted to pluck from the arsenal of the Allies, and if they did, they could gain a terrible advantage. A whole world of critical information would go dark if they got to me. It was bad enough that I'd been separated from my work.

So I recognized the fear I saw on Sergeant Gottschalk's face. He carried a similar secret, and had reason to fear dire consequences of his capture.

I considered our situation, and how I could get him at gunpoint and march him out and flag down me boys. This is what I should do, really. Since I was an 'asset' and so, apparently was he. But I hesitated. I don't know why, but I did.

Well, I do know why. I felt sorry for the lad, truth be told. He was fine and sharp witted and all, and cut a nice figure in a uniform. Men would follow him, I had no doubt. But what I saw was the lad, a young kid caught up in a game much bigger than he ever expected.

He didn't challenge me any further, and I didn’t press, deciding for now I would sit tight and wait for the right moment. He kept staring at the ground until he finally said, "Can you help me up?" I held his good arm as he wobbled to his feet, reached out with his bad arm and winced, clearly unused to injury. 

"Can you make it then, lad?" I said softly. He nodded, and walked unsteadily off.

===============

The sun was up now, and we heard more mortars, and saw the plumes of smoke from the German's wooly bears, so they were both at it now. It was always so unreal from a distance, the way it looked and sounded, muffled like. But we both knew how bloody real it was on the ground. Wilhelm got his field glasses out and climbed up on a boulder to watch. I would rather not see any more, as long as I live, then or now.

I went to investigate our rations, meager as they were. I inventoried the water and found we had five canteens with three full and two at a half. There were three tins of food. And a packet of hard, dark bread, a bit moldy.

I dare not go near the gun stash, lest I clue him in, but instead wandered up the draw and look for any plant life we could eat or burn. In France and parts of Morocco I’ve found wild rosemary, and if the tinned rations were as bad as the crap they fed us in camp, we'd be glad of it. There were some dry twigs and sticks that might be of use if we needed a fire, and I gathered those, checking often to see if my Sergeant was still on his rock.

By the time I returned with a pitiful pile of tinder and a few branches of something aromatic, the sun was high enough to be blazing hot. Sergeant Gottschalk was back at our 'camp' and pulling out his shaving kit.

"Are you sure you want to use your water that way, lad? We may be in sore need of it soon enough." He glared at me, briefly, then stowed the kit. He didn’t like being wrong.

“It would be better to use some of that to clean up your shoulder, Sergeant.” 

Did I imagine it? He looked momentarily alarmed, then resumed his fierce soldier mask. Then he allowed me to seat him on a rock and carefully remove his tunic and shirt. Using as little water as possible I cleaned away the dried blood to examine the wound. He kept trying to see what I was doing, but he was getting in my way.

“I need you to hold still. I will tell you everything I am going to do, but I need to get a good look at this to know what we’re dealing with.” I felt like I was calming a high-strung horse, and held my mouth firm lest I show my amusement. 

He sighed, looked out at the horizon. “Proceed.”

“Tell me when this hurts.” I slowly lifted his arm until he winced.

“Stop!” he spit through his clenched teeth. 

The bullet had entered from the back, missing the scapula, then tore through the front of his upper arm.

“This looks a right mess, but you are lucky it was a through and through, and that it didna nick an artery. It should be stitched. Are you sure we don’t have a field medic kit?” He shook his head.

I worried, since infection could still cause big trouble, but we would work with what we had. The entry wound was small and clean. I used the shaving soap to wash his shoulder thoroughly, revealing his ivory skin from beneath the crusted blood. Despite the blazing sun, he shivered.  
I moved around and knelt in front of him, this part would take more concentration. “I’m sorry if this hurts you, Wilhelm.” But he was still now as I cleaned the ragged flesh and wrapped him carefully in torn shirt. 

I sat back on my heels, hands on his thighs and looked into his pale face, looking so young despite his stoic efforts. He looked at me, not like that hawk, but openly, showing me his fear and something else, something… tender.

“Try it now, Wilhelm. See if you can get your clean shirt on.” He made such a terrible face when he tried to get into that sleeve that I helped him ease it on. I stroked the outside of his arm, then realized this was a bit too familiar, and stepped back, embarrassed. 

“Thank you, Lewis.” I heard much truth in his voice, he was really grateful.

“Just take care with that, and let me know if anything changes, if you feel hot, or more pain.”

He smiled, just a little bit. “I am sitting in the noonday sun.” 

"Well if we aren't going to set out to be rescued, we need to get out of the sun, and out of sight as well. I suggest that we move further up this draw. It narrows as it goes up, and will be shady most the day."

"Do you think we will need our weapons, Private Lewis?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow and watching me for signs of any glance or twitch that might reveal their hiding place.

I considered this. It would be folly to leave ourselves unprotected. But did I trust him not to kill me? Probably. But what about marching me out to the Jerrys first chance he got?

"Lewis, I hope you will accept my word that I will not shoot you. I would ask the same from you."

"Although I am technically your prisoner, Sergeant, at the moment I have you at a disadvantage. I’ll want to rejoin me mates when they roll by. I might see my way to leaving you to your own devices. But I will not have you take me to Rommel. I can outrun you now, as you're not in the best of shape. And I’ll not give you a gun, if that’s what you’re asking."

He glared at me, his expression all hot and angry. He lit a fag.

"We’re wastin water, sittin here in the sun, lad. Let's get to some shade."

He couldna carry much with his bad arm, but I loaded up his good shoulder with his kit and several canteens. I pointed up the trail and then I turned the other way. I went to get the guns.

Looking back, I could have been court-martialed. I’m quite sure my commander would rather I just shot the bastard and got back to work. But in that moment, I decided that we were going to survive together, and that I trusted him somewhat. I should have known then.

========= 

I stowed the guns nearby but where the Sergeant would have to contend with me to get to them, and kept my pistol in plain sight or tucked in the back of me trousers. I helped him settle in a new spot, sheltered from the wind and sun, then made my own nest across from him, somewhat dreading the long day ahead. 

Soon we were jolted by something loud, exploding nearer by than we'd heard before. We both sat bolt upright.

"Here we go again."

The rumble of troops grew louder and I climbed up over the rocks to get a look at what was happening. A strong hand grabbed me and hauled me back down. He covered my mouth with his left hand while I protested. 

“Silence!” He stared fiercely into my eyes and I stilled under his hand. “Do not give us away. They are Afrika Korps.” He removed his hand while giving me a warning look. I nodded.

“Are you sure?” I whispered. 

He frowned. “Those are Panzers, listen.” I heard the growl of tanks amid the din of an army on the move, and they could have been Chinese tanks for all I could tell. 

I watched him as he cocked his head and listened intently. After while I could hear in the marching step something different in their footfalls. Alright, I thought. Not my casual First, but hard soled boots marking time with great precision. Definitely not the Aussies.

But why would Sergeant Gottschalk not want them to pick us up? Not want to complete his mission to deliver me to Rommel? He glanced and me and held his finger to my lips.

Would they discover the wreck of the lorry? There was no pause the army’s rhythm. We were undetected for now. I hadn’t expected the Nazis to come by, headed as they were toward the open plains and Sfax. Were they retreating? If they had been heading the opposite way I’d have known they were heading into certain conflict. As they passed by our shallow canyon hideaway I turned these questions over in my mind. 

In the quiet aftermath I asked him softly: “Don’t you want to go join them?” I concluded he was trying to protect me from them. I risked calling his bluff. 

“No. It is better that they go on.”

“You need medical care. You should go to them, Sergeant.”

He looked at me like I was a small child. “We don’t want them investigating the remains of our vehicle, do we? Besides, you are caring for me adequately.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I am such a damn fine nurse.” 

He smiled that thin smile, hard-edged amusement with a flicker of warmth behind it. Amazing. He was protecting me. From his people. 

Reading my mind he began a less than satisfactory explanation:  
“They are likely heading into battle. It would not serve us to accompany them.” That tone of voice that says ‘case closed.’

============

We slept in the cool of the shade most of the afternoon. I only woke when Wilhelm shook my shoulder. I've slept in so many strange places in the war, and I learned to come right awake before I made a move, not knowing what I might find around me. But this time I was deep in a dream of home, where the green grass was warm with long shadows of a late summer evening, and the fireflies were arising. The smell of rich earth and summer rain were as delicious as food, and I startled awake to our acrid desert air with a stab of grief so sharp I nearly cried out.

He stood over me in the dimming light. “You were dreaming, it was becoming unpleasant.

I didn’t have words to say at that moment, and that felt okay.

"It's alright, Lewis. I think they've stopped fighting for the day. It's been calm for a bit." He sat down next to me and handed me the canteen.

"I was dreamin of home." I whispered, and didn’t meet his eye. A lump in me throat just wasn’t going away.

"You are missing your family." Not a question.

"Aye, that. And the green, I miss the soft green land."

"Tell me about your kin." He asks gently.

"Me wife Val, she died three years back. My son David and little girl Lyn are with her sister, and I haven’t seen them for nigh on two years. I'll not recognize them now, they grow so fast. Lyn will be a young lady ere I get back." And what went unsaid was my terror that she wouldn’t remember me at all. I was glad for the gathering dark. "What about you, lad? Who's waiting for you at home? Are you married?"

"There's no one. Not any more."

I waited for more of an explanation. He lit another fag and drew deeply. I felt the smoke curling around us. "That's a bloody shame, son. Surely there is someone who is missin ya." I wasn’t keen on giving more information than I got, but somehow I believed him, or respected his pain, for I didn’t press.

Instead I went off to collect more tinder, intending to make a fire tonight but mostly needing a chance to move about and think. I brought back enough for a tiny fire. As dark settled in to stay I made a small blaze and heated our 2nd tin of rations. We sat together and ate our slop with a bit of bread and sipped water like it was a fine whiskey. 

“Are you a religious man, Wilhelm?”

He was quiet for a longish while. “I was almost a priest, before the war. So I place some importance on God, yes.”

I canna make much sense out of church going, mysel’. Look at this bloody world, it’s a mess.”

It was hard to disagree. Wilhelm lit a smoke and I inhaled the scent, listened to him breathe.

“One could say I was called to my work. First in the seminary, and now in the war.”

I turned sharply to see his face in the firelight. “You think there’s a god responsible for this miserable war? And you’d follow Him? You think you are doing god's work?” My fists were clenched and his image swam distorted by my tears.

He looked at me, softening like an angel. I hadn’t realized I was crying. He reached a hand and touched my face as I tried to hide, lifted my chin. 

“Lewis, I’m sorry, so sorry . It’s not, that’s not what I meant...”

I slapped his hand away. “Nimm deine verdammten Hände weg, du Nazischwein! Du hast vielleicht Nerven, Gott für all das verantwortlich zu machen, du und dein verrückter Hitler!” ” 

I scrambled up and was going to leave him there to rot. I just ran into the night. Why the fuck not. If I got shot at least it would be quick. But before I went too many paces I started trembling, me leg was shaking and then I couldn’t stand or see or think. I just lost all control. It was like a dam bursting with lava behind it, this rush of images came over me. I saw me best mate with half his head blown apart, dying in me arms. I saw my first battle, the lot of us new arrivals cowering behind a dune. Shells were exploding all around, someone was calling for his mother. And then just for full measure the face of my Val comes to my mind, in that moment just before she died. She smiled at me when I knew she was in bone-wrenching pain and there was not a damn thing I could do. 

I wept like a child. Wilhelm came and did his best to lift me with one arm. I tried to stand, all unsteady and ended up clutching his lapels and hiding my face against him while he walked me gently back to the fire and sat me down where I could lean against him. I was glad he was behind me, I couldn’t have borne for him to see my face at that moment. 

“I’m sorry I …”

“Shhh, mein freund. That’s not important now.” He whispered to me.

I was beaten. I felt finished, without an ounce of will left for any more war, any more intrigue, any more survival. 

He pressed his lips to my ear, like a small kiss, and spoke softly.

“I want to tell you a story. About a strange young boy who loved being in church, who grew up in English boarding school far away from home. From there he went into seminary. After three years he was asked to leave, his elders decided he wasn’t called to God. And how then persuasive Third Reich recruiters praised that boy’s discipline and intelligence and promised him a life of service to his country.”

The tiny fire was burning low, just a few crackling coals remained. 

“I know, as do many of my countrymen, that our Fuhrer is a mad man. Some of us are working to solve that situation. This is why I must return to my work.”

He allowed his to head rest on my shoulder, spent from his confession. I leaned into him, sighing. I clasped the hand he had rested on my hip, held it both my hands, and prayed.

Eventually we dozed off. I crawled next to him and he put his good arm around me and pulled up his greatcoat for a blanket. We slept.

I canna say what woke me, but I was in an instant clear awake. Maybe it was that shocking star shine, or some sound that had already faded, but I opened my eyes without moving, curled up on my Sergeant’s shoulder. He was the warmest thing around, certainly.

""MMmmm. you are awake." I nodded, burrowing. He tightened his arm around me. "It’s those stars, I said finally. They are bright enough to wake a man."

I could feel his smile in the dark. We watched the sky, wondering at the smear of grainy light and the shimmering of so many stars winking. I'd never seen such 'twinkle' before, as if they blinked on and off, even though I knew it was just an effect of the air.

"Have you heard that tale about the peace signal?" I asked him.

"Can’t say that I have." 

"Well, it's said that when peace breaks out they will announce it with three blue lights. Deep blue flares." I waited for him to react. "That no one will see. Because it's night.

His breathing changed a bit, not that I'd call it even a chuckle. I’d wager we both were searching the sky for those blue lights.  
After a long while, when I thought he might be asleep, I quietly said:

“Wilhelm, we have to come up with a way out of this situation. Believe me lad, I deeply appreciate not being served up to Rommel’s interrogators, and I am willing to return the gesture, but we need a workable plan. We need to get back to work.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking. Come morning, here’s what we are to do.”

I listened.

================

In the glorious light of morning the world felt remarkably fresh even in that blasted desert. Pink light washed over this barren place and a hint of moisture in the air brought a scent of hope, of optimism. I looked around with a strange feeling of fondness.

We needed to get organized, so I began packing our gear. I cleaned and loaded the guns. When all was ready I opened our last tin of food and broke the remaining bread in two. We ate together quietly.

We stood at the mouth of our tiny canyon, looking out over the wrecked lorry into the valley and the world, the war beyond. The thought of going forward without his tall shadow standing behind me was a gust of unbearable loneliness. _What has happened to you, Robbie Lewis?_ I smiled to myself and turned to face my Sergeant.

He looked down into my face and turned his head just so, and I closed my eyes and felt the press of his lips against mine. I wrapped my arms around him, taking in every sensation, every heartbeat, engraving his warmth and scent in my mind. And I kissed him back. A bloke, a tall German bloke and I am mad for him like a silly girl, and I don’t give a hoot because he is mine for another second or two. He is mine and in my heart forever. 

Are you ready? He asks me smiling.

“Yes. No. Of course!” I babble. “Wilhelm, after the war. If we get out of this thing, that is. Come find me in Newcastle. Robbie. Robert Lewis. We’ll have a pint together, old friends.” 

I knew at that moment he had no faith that he would survive the war. And at the time, I decided I would have enough faith for both of us, that I would not let his grim sense of fate, or his dour god get in the way of my vision. I would believe for both of us. 

And then he leant close and whispered in my ear: “After the war, do not look for Wilhelm Gottschalk. You will not find him.”

He stood tall, adjusted his hat and held out his hand. I marveled at his sudden transformation into a German officer. I shook his hand. And felt the slip of paper he pressed into my palm.

“Goodbye, Lewis.” He said.

I shook my head. “No goodbyes. A bientot, mon ami.” 

He smiled, nodded to me almost like a bow, and turned to the east. I watched for just a moment before I turned to the west and began to walk back into the world at war.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my cheerleaders and beta readers tjs-whatnot, enedovial, and story consultant crowfly for their help making this story what it is.
> 
> Basaltgrrl, on your LJ you had a list of favorite things, and one of them was the film _[The Desert Fox](http://http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Desert_Fox:_The_Story_of_Rommel)_ , with James Mason starring as Rommel. Once I had that idea, I couldn't stop imagining Hathaway in German uniform. The rest just fell into place. Well, after substantive research on the war in North Afrika. While I grew up surrounded by WWII stories in cinema and tv, I never liked them much, but working on this has given me a new vein of media obsession. So thank you so much for the chance to create this for you.
> 
> References you might find interesting:
> 
> [Afrika Korps](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Afrika_Korps) About the Afrika Korps  
> [Rommel vid footage](http://youtu.be/TeonRxBwS8o) \- edited collection of Rommel in North Africa  
> [WW2 glossary](http://secondworldwar.co.uk/index.php/glossary) \-- every era has it's language  
> [WW2 Timeline](http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/timeline/) \-- excellent BBC resources  
> [WW2 photos](http://www.ww2incolor.com/) \-- lots of photos, mostly not in color.  
> [The Desert Fox](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0043461/) \-- James Mason does an incredible job in this smart and compelling 1945 film. Being sympathetic to a Nazi in 1945 was a bit shocking.


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